Wake

Chapter 38

Lucie

Wake up.

The two words that had meant everything and nothing at the same time. Yet, I finally could. I opened my eyes, inhaled so much air that my chest ached with the volume of it, exhaled it all again. I was seeing and I was breathing and I was moving, all on my own.

Everything kind of hit me in a rush, a wave crashing against stone, weathering it away. I'd been in the foyer with Nura, and now I was here, in my body again, everything that was fantasy made true again. I had wanted this for as long as I could remember. So why did something feel wrong?

The nurses were all in my face, shouting at me, some smiling, others straight-faced. What were they saying? What were any of them saying? What was—what was I supposed to say?

My head rolled lazily against the pillows, my fingers twitching. I knew what I wanted. I knew who I wanted.

"Cian," I breathed, and at once the cacophony seemed to still, the waves shrinking back towards the ocean again. I blinked up at the white ceiling and I rubbed the water from my eyes and I said, again, "Cian."

Voices cut through:
"Someone should call him—"

"Dr. Keyes did a few minutes ago—"

"Has anyone seen her parents—?"

Something was weighing me down against the bed, like lead in my veins. I wanted to sit up, but when I tried, there was pain, everywhere. I groaned. I had to get out of here. I had to—

"Oh! There he is—"

"Muffin?"

I recognized the voice. I knew it like I knew my favorite song, because in a sense, it was my favorite song. Cian, his voice, everything about him, was a melody in my ears. Then he was there, leaning over me, his eyes so pensive that they seemed dark—a stormy sea. He let out a breath, slipped his arms underneath me and lifted me up against him. "Are you okay?" he gasped. "They called me and I—I came as quick as I could. Are you okay?"

He was hurting me a little, but I wouldn't say so. I wouldn't, not when I could feel his heartbeat thudding against me, the firmness of his chest against mine, the warmth of his skin as he held me. It was everything I'd been missing. He was everything. "I'm fine," I said, and then it dawned on me, what this meant. I shook my head, pulling away from him.

A flash of hurt crossed his face, then settled again. "Lucie? What is it?"

It wasn't a question of what. It was who. It was why.

"Vinny," I said, and saw Cian's face go a feverish red. "Vinny—where is he? Have you seen him?"

"No," Cian said. "God, I left, I wasn't even—oh, no. We've got to get home. We have to make sure—can you move? No. You should rest, and I'll come back—"

He was buzzing restlessly, turning in one direction and then turning in the other, his hands thrust in his hair. I had seen him distraught before, but not like this, never like this.

Finally, he nodded to himself, and then made his way for the door.

I grabbed his sleeve, yanking him back.

He looked at me, tears streaking down his face. I frowned. I wanted to reach out, to wipe them all away, to tell him: It's okay. I'm here now, and I'm not leaving you. But there was no time.

So I swung myself out of bed, fighting through the lingering haze, the soreness of my bones. Nurses shrieked at me to stay still, but I wouldn't. I'd been still for weeks. There was only one thing for me to do now, and it was to move.

"I'm coming with you, Cian," I said. "Take me with you."

We left in Caprice's Camaro, which she had lent Cian after they'd gotten the news. I sat in the front seat, clad in only my Doc Martens and Cian's sweatshirt, which was large enough on me that it draped nearly to my knees. The nurses and doctors had all railed against us, telling me I was too weak and that I had to recover. But I didn't care. There was no time. No time.

There wasn't even time to think. I wanted to pause, to enjoy the wind in my hair and the sun on my face, how tangible it all was now, but I couldn't. All I could do was ignore the boiling of my blood and try not to worry too much.

Which was impossible.

A red light drew us to an abrupt halt. I wondered if he saw it, too, how the sky was bluer and the air was thinner, how the grayness of it all had burst again into vivid color.

And Cian turned, looked at me, sparing a smile, no matter how little. "I'm glad you're back, muffin," he told me, then reached out, gripping my frail hand in his own. "I really am."

It was a tiny moment of calm in an otherwise raging storm, and it was over before I could reply. The tires squealed, and we were off again, rubber grinding against asphalt.

We reached the house, and Cian practically flung himself from the car, coming around to help me up. I could walk, of course, but it wasn't the most fluid of movements, and he knew that. He brought my arm over his shoulder, pausing for a moment to glance down at me. "Do you need me to carry—"

"No."

He smirked, but the gesture was fleeting. "That's my girl."

He was already calling for Vinny by the time he had the key in the front door; we both were. My eyes traced the flowers that lined the cobblestone walk, previously wilting and dim. They were bright again, standing tall and healthy.

The knob turned, and I couldn't deny the knot of fear in my throat, that something was wrong, that the door would open and we'd find Vinny there, cold.

But there had to be another way, right? Cian had said he'd find one.

The door opened, and we staggered in.

All the tension in me released. Vinny was on the stairs, sitting beside Nura, calmly speaking with her. I felt Cian relax beside me. He turned, let me go, made sure I was steady on my feet, then strode over to his brother.

Vinny looked up, but wouldn't meet his eyes. "Cian..."

"Sorry," Cian said, before Vinny could say much else. "I was just worried. I should have checked on you before I left—"

By then, Cian had already gone to embrace him. I saw it, the moment his shoulders went still and everything in him stopped. I saw the moment all the joy left him.

I should've seen it, on Vinny's face, on Nura's face.

"Vinny," Cian whispered, stumbling backwards, his voice hoarse.

"Vinny—why can't I touch you?"